


Secret Whistle

by thenerdyindividual



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Court Sorcerer Merlin (Merlin), Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hijinks & Shenanigans, King Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), M/M, Merlin is a Little Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:14:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26611258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdyindividual/pseuds/thenerdyindividual
Summary: Merlin can't understand those stupid complicated hand signs Arthur uses on a hunt, but they figure out another way to communicate.or: 5 times people were confused by Arthur and Merlin's secret language, and 1 time everyone understood.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 92
Kudos: 1214
Collections: Merthur Fics, merlin fics i read and haven't been the same since





	Secret Whistle

1\. Arthur

It starts, as so many things do, with trying to get a rise out of Merlin. It’s become one of Arthur’s favorite pass times over the last year, riling Merlin up until he splutters or snaps back. He’s the only person Arthur has met that doesn’t back down at the first hint of severity from their prince, and it’s more of a relief than he will admit to get to listen to Merlin’s cheeky remarks, or see his judgmental side eye. It means Arthur develops a habit of making cutting remarks, but Merlin seems to understand exactly what Arthur is doing and never takes it personally.

This bad habit rears its ugly head on a hunt. 

They’ve been hosting a delegation from Cambria for the last month, and somehow it fell to Arthur to keep their son entertained. He’s nearly seven years Arthur’s senior, and only half the hunter. It leaves Arthur in the unenviable position of having to pretend to be bad at something he takes quite a lot of pride in.

Prince Gilliam is also as unpleasant a person as Arthur has ever met. For as much as Merlin complains about Arthur being unbearably stuck up, and arrogant, Prince Gilliam is worse. He takes the good natured teasing between knights and twists it, amplifying the competitiveness higher and higher until the teasing turn contentious and almost come to blows. He lords his catches over Arthur like Arthur hasn’t been capturing hares and pheasants in these woods since he was tall enough to ride a damn horse. He’s more demanding than even Merlin teases Arthur about being. Arthur has heard the reports of Gilliam’s servants running to and fro all through the night just to keep him happy, and Arthur has only ever done that to Merlin when he’s stuck in a late meeting with the king that just won’t end.

Arthur is miserable, irritated, cranky, and about a dozen other unpleasant things all at once. He has to grit his teeth to keep himself from shoving Gilliam right off his damn horse. To cap it all off, Merlin is being even more useless than usual. Arthur knows Merlin never went on a hunting party before arriving in Camelot, but he’s been on enough with Arthur now that he should know what the gesture for _go around the other side_ is. You know what they say about assuming.

The hare escapes Arthur for the fifth time, and a frustrated groan tears its way unbidden from his throat. Prince Gilliam chooses that exact moment to ride by, grin smugly down at Arthur, and wave his own catch in Arthur’s face.

“You seem to be falling behind, Wart.” Gilliam says with a derisive laugh, and rides off.

Arthur isn’t sure what gets his back up most: Merlin’s new level of incompetence, Gilliam’s sneering, or the use of the nickname he hasn’t used since he was five years old. Regardless, his back is up, and when his back is up, Merlin takes the brunt of it. He pivots on his heel and glares into Merlin’s apologetic face.

“My dogs can follow orders better than you.” He snaps.

Merlin’s brows crinkle disapprovingly, and Arthur’s heartbeat settles a little. _Yes,_ he thinks _, this is it. I need this. Say something rude and idiotic so I can get through this damn hunt._

“Your dogs don’t have to follow ridiculously overcomplicated hand gestures.” Merlin snaps back.

Arthur feels himself settling back into his skin at the insult to his leadership skills. 

“Are you saying you’re no more intelligent than a dog?” 

“I’m saying,” Merlin says with raised eyebrows, “that it’s a poor teacher who blames his students for not understanding something they were never taught.”

“I’m not a teacher, Merlin.”

Merlin scoffs lightly and nods his chin at Arthur defiantly, “That much is clear.”

“Shut up,” Arthur says instinctively and claps Merlin on the shoulder, “and pay attention next time. I know it isn’t easy, but you could at least make an effort to try.”

Merlin mutters something under his breath, and the last word sounds distinctly like ass.

“What was that?”

“I said I think we should check in that tall grass.” Merlin responds with a guileless grin, and Arthur can’t help but grin back.

That’s another thing Merlin has brought with him; genuine smiles. Arthur’s had too many fake smiles for a lifetime, but Merlin is different. He wears his emotions plainly, and his smile is bright and infectious. Arthur has a hard time warding himself against it most days.

They do, in fact, go to investigate the tall grass that Merlin pointed out. They sneak forward, low to the ground, chests nearly scraping it, and Arthur parts the grass. A red grouse stands hidden in the tall blades, pecking at some flowers that had sprouted up.

Arthur turns to Merlin, and signs _go around to the other side, and startle it, then I’ll shoot it down._ Merlin stares back at him blankly, and Arthur glares at him. Merlin glares back and holds his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. Arthur sighs, and tries once more to indicate with his hands and chin what he wants Merlin to do, but Merlin stares at him with a great deal of exasperation. 

Arthur heaves a put upon sigh, and decides that if he’s not going to be able to get Merlin to do what he wants anyway, he may as well have a little fun. He purses his lips and let out the two note whistle that he uses to instruct his dogs to do what he’s trying to get Merlin to do. 

Merlin, to Arthur’s great surprise, hops to his feet, and begins to creep around the edge of the grouse’s little hideout. He pauses for a moment, blinks like he’s just realized what he’s done, then shoots Arthur a very irritated look like it’s Arthur’s fault that Merlin apparently responds to dog whistles.

Arthur ends up getting the grouse.

2\. Leon

The whistles escalate from that first time. The great thing about Merlin, is that he’s not a dog. He can understand more complicated whistles than any of Arthur’s hunting dogs, and faster too. Merlin still can’t make heads nor tails of Arthur’s hand gestures, but it doesn’t matter. All Arthur has to do is whistle a series of notes, and Merlin moves.

It becomes another hobby of Arthur’s. He can spend entire evenings in his chambers with Merlin as Merlin polishes his boots or does some other minor chore, just whistling at him. The whistles become more and more complicated every night and Merlin rises to the challenge. 

His eyes twinkle whenever he gets an instruction correct, and he rolls his eyes whenever Arthur whistles nonsense that doesn’t have any meaning yet. To Arthur’s utter delight, Merlin will sometimes translate Arthur’s whistles into insults.

“Clearly that means you’re being a big headed prat.”

“Yes, I agree. You are arrogant.”

“Saying that about the king is treason, Arthur. Honestly, I thought you knew better.”

Arthur genuinely doesn’t see anything strange about this habit of theirs until the next hunting trip. It’s been several weeks since the outing with Gilliam, and the whistling has gotten quite complex by then. May Day fast approaches, and some king from the southern kingdoms has decided to come celebrate in Camelot. 

Arthur would be more offend by his father sending him to May Day chores, if he didn’t adore hunting so much. He can never get enough of it; the smell of the trees, the rush of wind, the racing of his heart. He comes alive during a hunt in a way he rarely does in the castle. The closest he comes is during training with the knights, or a verbal sparring match with Merlin.

The deer tracks they’ve been following come to a stop, and Arthur reins in Hengroen. His knights come to an abrupt halt behind him, but Merlin nearly crashes into the back of him. He rolls his eyes at Merlin, and Merlin lets an annoyed huff of air slip.

Arthur whistles the command for stop, and Merlin sends him a look that could not more clearly read ‘Thank you for stating the obvious, sire’. It makes his lips twitch traitorously, and he dismounts so that Merlin can’t see his smile. His knights follow suit, and together the creep along the edges of the tracks.

They pick them up again before long, and follow them deeper into the woods. Arthur can feel Merlin on his heels the whole time. The party spots the deer in a clearing, munching on some grass. Arthur whistles the four tone whistle that means _surround it_. Merlin taps him on the shoulder once to indicate that he’s heard and that he’s understood, then disappears into the trees. Arthur hears no other movement from behind him.

He frowns, and turns his head. His knights are still crouching there, and the looks on their faces range from puzzled to downright befuddled. Arthur can’t imagine why. His order was clear enough. He rolls his eyes, then one by one indicates which point each knight should position himself.

The knights move off around the perimeter of the clearing, taking up their positions. They advance on the deer with the precision honed after years of doing this exact maneuver together, although today was the first time his knights have ever hesitated to answer his orders. That is something that will need to be discussed during training.

Once they take down the deer, they move on to smaller game. The king is planning a whole feast for May Day, and while Arthur is sure that deer would be preferred, he’s also paid enough attention to the various game keepers whose job it is to monitor the woods near Camelot that taking too many deer would throw everything off balance. The southern king whose name Arthur can’t remember will just have to be content with deer _and_ rabbit.

Oddly enough, the incident with the deer isn’t the end to their communication struggles. He whistles for Kay to hand him a crossbow, and Kay has the audacity to look at Arthur like he’s grown another head. When he whistles for Leon to move forward and take down a pheasant, the same thing happens. Merlin, however, has never been more attentive to Arthur’s needs on a hunt.

He hops up to hand Arthur his crossbow when Kay falters. He passes Leon more arrows when Arthur commands Leon to take down the prey. He disappears and reappears in the trees exactly how he’s meant to, and doesn’t stumble over Arthur’s ankles like he’s been so prone to do in the past. It’s the best they’ve ever worked together, and Arthur wonders if the bond of saving each other’s lives has magically gifted them the ability to understand each other, and just how angry his father is going to be when he admits to being magically bonded to Merlin.

When the hunt comes to its official end, Arthur gathers his knights near, and stares at them hard.

“That was pitiful,” he says, infusing his voce with as much displeasure as he can muster, “Merlin did better than you today. Merlin!”

“Hey!” Merlin says indignantly from the back of the group, but Arthur ignores him.

“Well,” Arthur demands, “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

The knights all glance to each other. They shift anxiously under his gaze, and refuse to meet his eyes. This, too, is odd behavior. His knights are part of the very few people who are actually permitted to look at him in the face, and they have always exercised that right in the past. Leon smiles tentatively.

“I’m afraid none of us were informed of the new signals, sire.” He says, placating.

“New signals?” 

“Yes. We haven’t learned the whistles. We are, of course, happy to learn them if you wish. It just may take some time for us all to learn.”

“No. No,” Arthur says softly, “That’s quite alright.”

For some reason teaching his code, _their_ code, to anyone else isn’t very appealing.

3\. Uther

Merlin isn’t in Arthur’s chambers, and it is really an inconvenient time for Merlin to be going mysteriously absent like he is wont to do. He’s meant to be entertaining Lady Sebille in an hour, and he needs Merlin to dress him. As loathe as Arthur is to pay Merlin a compliment, he is the only one who has mastered the art of combining Arthur’s clothes in a way that makes him look just good enough to pass muster with his father, but doesn’t give the lady any ideas.

He needs that skill even more at the moment. He’s certain his father is trying to marry him off to Lady Sebille, and while there is nothing inherently wrong with her, Arthur’s heart rather belongs to someone else. He’s only been courting Gwen a few months, but he can’t imagine his life without her in it. He can picture a future where she is his queen, and Merlin serves them both with his usual incompetent ways.

That future will go up in smoke if Merlin doesn’t find his scrawny backside here soon. If Arthur shows up underdressed, his father will simply send him back to redress until he is dressed appropriately. If he shows up dressed too well then Lady Sebille will be unbearable for the rest of the evening. She is a bright woman, but she is still in a position that requires her to get all fluttery at the merest hint of a proposal in her future.

It occurs to him, then, that things must be incredibly difficult for women.

He tears through his closet like a whirlwind, but his various shirts and jackets lay spread out on his bed taunting him. They blur before his eyes, oddly turning all the same color in his confusion. There’s nothing for it now, he really can’t wait for Merlin to show up.

He strides over to his doors, and yanks them wide open. He leans out so he can get a full view of the hall, and whistles the tri tone that means _where the hell are you _, as loud as he can. He doesn’t get an immediate response, so he whistles again. This time he gets the returning three reoccurring notes that mean _I’m on my way_. He breathes a sigh of relief, but whistles for Merlin to hurry up. He gets an annoyed whistle in return that tells him to shut up. He just whistles hurry up again. Merlin whistles back the note that means ass.__

__Merlin appears around the corner a second later, balancing Arthur’s laundry, chainmail, and boots all in one precarious basket. He sends Arthur an exasperated look, but Arthur doesn’t wait. He whistles for Merlin to follow him, and strides back into his room. Merlin grumbles under his breath, but does as he was ordered. He kicks the door closed behind him, and dumps the basket in a corner of the room._ _

__“What seems to be the problem?” he asks, voice a bit higher for the lack of air._ _

__“I have no idea what to wear tonight. My—Father!” Arthur’s eyes widen as the door swings open behind Merlin to admit his father into the room._ _

__Merlin’s happy grin slips from his face, and he startles away from the door. The two of them stare at the king, and he stares back at them. He has that looks on his face that means Arthur has just done something monumentally disappointing, but Arthur can’t understand for the life of him what he’s done._ _

__“What was it that I just heard between you and your servant, Arthur?” he asks coldly._ _

__“We… that is… I…” Arthur stutters, scrambling for an explanation for what his father no doubt just witnessed._ _

__“Whistling.” Merlin blurts out, and Arthur glares at the side of Merlin’s thick head._ _

__“I could hear that,” the king says darkly, “What I want to know is why it seemed that you were holding a conversation that way.”_ _

__“It’s a tradition from another kingdom!” Arthur blurts, apparently pulling his ideas from Merlin’s Big Book of Impulsivity._ _

__“It’s my fault,” Merlin insists, “I was having trouble understanding the hand gestures used on hunts, and Arthur… I mean… Prince Arthur was kind enough to… um… learn the whistle system from Essetir that I grew up with.”_ _

__Arthur holds his breath as his father glances between them. A muscle in his jaw twitches, and Arthur recognizes it as the one that acts up whenever Morgana does something particularly infuriating. Funny how Merlin and Morgana seem to be the only ones who can give his father a headache. It’s an admirable quality._ _

__His father’s gaze fixes on him, “He is a servant.”_ _

__“Yes, Father.”_ _

__“You have far too much regard for him. If he was incapable of learning the hand gestures then you should have left him to figure it out on his own. You treat the boy like a friend, but you should know better. He is below your regard. If I ever catch you whistling to each other again, I will have him flogged. Do you understand me?”_ _

__“Yes, Father.” Arthur agrees._ _

__It’s a surprisingly short rant. In the past, his father’s rants about the importance of class could go on until the sun went down. His father pivots and strides imposingly for the door. As he walks away, Arthur swears he can see his father shake his head like he’s trying to clear it of something. Arthur may be seeing things, but it seems like his father was more confused than truly angry._ _

____

4\. Gwen

Arthur calls for a break, and all the knights rush to the side of the field. Merlin is there, perched at the weapons table with a pitcher of water. He smiles and pours each knight a cup of water, and falls easily into the teasing. He darts out of Gwaine’s reach when Gwaine tries to snap him with his sweaty shirt, and bounces off Lancelot who give his hair an affectionate ruffle.

Arthur smiles softly to himself. It wasn’t a conscious choice to select his roundtable knights to be men who adore Merlin, in fact he didn’t have much of choice in their appointment at all. It turns out, though, men who willingly ride into battle with you after only knowing you in passing are going to be inordinately fond of the idiot who has been riding into danger with you the longest.

Merlin deserves their friendship. His father’s knights always treated Merlin a bit like a favored dog. They tolerated him because Arthur was fond of him, and because they thought him silly. They never saw what Arthur does. Merlin is perhaps the bravest among them. In fact, considering his mere existence in Camelot was dangerous up until Arthur stepped in as regent, Merlin _is_ the bravest among them.

He turns his head away from the brotherly affection, and spots Gwen meandering her way passed the field. She’s hefting a basket full of laundry in her arms, and the sun is reflecting off her curls in a way that turns her silhouette a bit hazy. Arthur feels the accompanying warmth he always feels for her, and he abandons his sword on the weapons table for Merlin to deal with.

He jogs over to her with what he is sure is a dopey smile on his face. She looks up at the movement, smiles sweetly when she spots him, and pauses in her tracks. He kisses her on the cheek, and takes the basket from her so she doesn’t have to hold it while he’s being a love sick fool about her.

“Guinevere, I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” He says, bouncing a little on his toes.

She tilts her head a little, and bites her lip in that way she does when she’s flustered. It’s a very Gwen movement, and it makes Arthur smile even wider. 

“I missed you as well.” She admits softly.

“Perhaps I could convince you to have dinner with me, then? To make up for it?” Arthur asks.

Just then a low-high whistle echoes across the practice field to where Arthur is standing. _Get over here._ Arthur rolls his eyes and whistles back two low-pitched notes. _Be right there_. He gets the return whistle for prat, then turns his attention back to Gwen. She has a small frown on her face, and keeps glancing back and forth between him and Merlin.

“Is something wrong?”

She shakes her head, and smiles, “No. Nothing is wrong. I’d love to have dinner with you tonight, but I really must get back to work.”

Arthur lets her go, completely mystified.

*

Gwen settles into her chair with all the elegance of a proper lady, and Arthur pushes it in for her. He likes making her feel special. She’s been an invaluable advisor even before they started courting. There is no one he trusts more than her than, perhaps, Merlin. She deserves the same regard.

He pours her some wine, then takes a seat across from her. They eat in companionable silence. Occasionally a question will pass between them; something innocuous such as ‘how was your day’. It eases any tension from Arthur’s shoulders that he’s been carrying over the course of the day.

When she’s had enough, Gwen pats her mouth demurely with a napkin, and looks at Arthur with gently assessing eyes, “I wondered if we might discuss something.”

“Of course. You know you may ask me anything.”

“What was that thing you did earlier? With Merlin?”

Arthur frowns, wracking his brain for any behavior out of the ordinary. Nothing strikes him as odd. Merlin woke him this morning, attended to him during training, brought up dinner for Gwen and Arthur from the kitchen. All of this is perfectly run of the mill stuff.

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“You two had a conversation over the practice grounds, entirely in whistles.”

“Oh!” Arthur exclaims and smiles a little sheepishly. Makes sense that she wouldn’t have heard it before. She doesn’t go on hunts, and she was always caught up in her duties when Arthur whistled for Merlin in the castle. “It’s a code we invented for hunting. It sometimes spills into the every day.”

Gwen sets her napkin aside, then clasps Arthur’s hands in hers with an understanding smile, “I’m going to say something, and I would very much like you to listen all the way to the end.”

Arthur’s heart drops into his boots. He doesn’t recognize this tone, but it is hitting every single fight or flight instinct he has. He sits in front of her feeling like a wild boar is barreling towards him in the woods while he’s unable to move.

“Very well.” He says tightly.

“Arthur,” Gwen says kindly, “I don’t think I’m the one you’re meant to be with.”

Arthur tightens his grip on her hands, and leans forward. His heart hammers heavily in his chest as panic consumes him. He can’t lose her, not after he struggled against his father for so long. Even as he thinks that, there’s a voice that sounds a bit like Merlin that tells him spiting his father is not a good reason to court someone. He brushes it aside.

“Of course you are,” he insists, “What brought this on?”

“I know you love me,” she continues warmly, “that is not in question. I love you as well. I just don’t think we’re in love with each other. How much do you miss me when I’m gone?”

“A lot.”

“And how much do you miss Merlin?”

Arthur frowns, “Merlin? What does he have to do with this?”

“You have a secret language.” Gwen points out, almost laughing.

“It was just something silly we came up with when we were much younger,” Arthur insists, “Please. I never meant to make you feel as though you were somehow unwelcome.”

“Would we ever know each other so well that we could invent a language without words and still understand each other?”

“But… we… you and I are different. I don’t need you to go hunting with me.”

“I miss Lancelot, when he’s gone,” Gwen admits, “And I can understand exactly what he is thinking just from a wrinkle in his forehead. I think, if you admit it to yourself, you’ll find you feel the same way about Merlin as I do Lancelot.”

Arthur sits back in his seat, breathless. He wishes he could tell her she was wrong.

“You are very, very dear to me,” Gwen insists with a worried frown, “but I think we are better served by remaining dear friends. Don’t you agree?”

Arthur sits silently for a moment. He doesn’t mean to make Gwen sweat, but he has to take some time to process all she’s said. He misses Merlin like a limb when he’s gone, and Merlin is the one person Arthur has never struggled to understand. It all rather adds up.

He expects to feel heartbroken over his carefully planned future going up in smoke, but finds that it isn’t all that concerning. He was already planning on a future with Merlin in it, after all.

He smiles softly at Gwen, and nods, “You have all my blessings to pursue a courtship with Lancelot.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek and leaves the room. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as he thought it would.

5\. Gaius

Things may have changed, but Merlin is still the same. Arthur can never find him when he needs him, and he has to spend his afternoon traipsing all over the castle in search of his wayward Court Sorcerer. He’s not in their chambers, nor in the library. Gwaine hasn’t seen him, and neither have Lancelot nor Gwen. It’s like Merlin has simply disappeared into thin air, and Arthur wouldn’t put it passed him.

Merlin hasn’t exactly been thrilled with the promotion to Court Sorcerer. He kept turning it down after the ban was lifted, but Arthur could never quite feel comfortable sleeping with Merlin while he was still a servant. Logically, he is aware that he could never actually make Merlin do something he didn’t want to do, but his father’s amused ‘I am familiar with the temptation of serving girls’ rings in his head. 

He knew Gwen understood he wasn’t with her because she couldn’t say no, but with Merlin it is infinitely more complicated. Destiny ties them together as much as they tie themselves together, and Arthur wanted to have one less complication between them. He wanted to give them both at least the illusion of Merlin being able to say no. It ended with Arthur practically frog-marching Merlin into a council session, and announcing him as new Court Sorcerer, but considering Merlin hadn’t turned him into a toad, he figures all is well.

Unfortunately, Merlin has a distinct tendency to hide when it comes to do any duty that isn’t protecting Arthur from the random threat. He avoids commenting on things in council sessions, trying to blend in with his seat like he used to blend in with the wall when he was a servant. When he gives his reports they are perfunctory and lack any of the rambling Arthur finds so endearing. He manages to wriggle out of tracking down and training new sorcerers in favor of pulling pranks on Arthur’s knights during training. It’s like he’s trying his damnedest to pretend like nothing has actually changed.

Arthur has plans, however, and those plans are incapable of proceeding until he finds Merlin. He settles his hands on his waist, and decides it’s time to start playing dirty. He whistles the long low note that is only used to indicate Merlin’s name. 

They’d invented it the first time they rode out together in battle. Merlin had actually turned into a merlin for much of it to give Arthur an alternate view of the battle field, and it was far less suspicious to whistle for a bird than call its name. Ever since then, Arthur has used it in place of his ‘where the hell are you’ whistle. It never fails to make Merlin respond with the long high pitched whistle that means Arthur.

Sure enough Merlin whistles back, and it is followed by a loud curse when Merlin realizes what trap he just fell into. Arthur grins and sets off down the hall to Gaius’s chambers. He hears the door click, and it draws a little chuckle, Merlin is really quite determined to avoid him if he’s going to drag Gaius into this mess.

Arthur whistles Merlin again, then opens Gaius’s doors.

Gaius is standing hunched over a book and some potion that smells a bit like rotten pond water. Arthur wrinkles his nose slightly, but doesn’t remark on it. It isn’t why he’s here after all.

“Gaius, you haven’t seen my court sorcerer have you?” Arthur asks.

“Perhaps you should check the tavern, sire.” Gaius says dryly, and Arthur laughs.

How he ever fell for that excuse for so long, he will never know. It’s been used to tease him enough times now that it doesn’t sting like it once did. Instead it makes him laugh at himself. His father would never approve, but Arthur isn’t in the habit of trying to please dead men.

“Somehow, I don’t think he’s made it that far. I heard him whistle.”

“Then I can’t help you.” Gaius says, and leans across the table to pick up a book. He very carefully does not make any movement that might shift his robes.

“He’s under the table, isn’t he?” Arthur asks.

“No.”

“Right.” Arthur strides across the room, reaches under the table, and hauls out a protesting Merlin. 

“You told me I could have the day off!” Merlin complains.

“Yes, Merlin, the day. Not the night.”

“Not fair! You should have told me! I am claiming the night too!”

“I need you for something,” Arthur says, tightening his hold on Merlin’s jacket, “If you’ll excuse us, Gaius.”

“Of course, sire.” Gaius says with an amused nod of his head.

“You’re meant to be on _my_ side.” Merlin points out.

“I am,” Gaius says and turns his eyes on Arthur, “Before you go, Sire, may I ask why you were whistling?”

“It’s a code Merlin and I invented.” Arthur explains. Has Gaius really never heard it used?

“I see. I was not aware that it had reached such levels of communication. Thank you, sire.”

Arthur bids Gaius goodnight, then hauls Merlin out after him.

“Just because you’re the king now doesn’t mean you can just drag me along like a ragdoll.” Merlin grumbles.

Arthur whistles the signal for shut up, and Merlin falls blessedly silent. Though he does glare at Arthur in a way that makes Arthur pick up his pace lest Merlin turns him into a toad before they can reach their destination. 

Merlin stays quiet until they reach the stairs for the battlements. Then he once more kicks up a fuss, demanding where they’re going and why. With the way he’s carrying on it sounds like Arthur is planning to throw him off said battlements, and there are days when Arthur is sorely tempted. Then he has to imagine a future without Merlin in it, and he realizes how bleak that would be.

“Stop shouting, idiot. It’s not court sorcerer business.”

The fight goes out of Merlin immediately, and he climbs the stairs without complaint. The people who accuse Arthur of being dramatic have clearly never met Merlin. Merlin’s flair for the dramatic can eclipse even a trained bard at times.

They emerge onto the battlements, and stand side by side as they stare across Camelot. It’s a clear night and they can see all the way to where the darkling woods meet the horizon. The stars stretch above them in a glittering tapestry. Arthur lets Merlin enjoy it for a moment while he plucks up his courage.

He takes a deep breath, drops to one knee, and whistles Merlin.

Merlin turns and looks down at him with an amused smile crinkling his face, “What are you… oh my god. What are you doing?”

Arthur holds up the ring. It glints a little in the moonlight. “Merlin of Ealdor, will you do me the great honor of becoming my husband?”

Merlin looks at him wide eyed, tears starting to dampen his lashes, “Are you serious?”

“Yes, you idiot.”

“Then yes! Yes, you prat! Of course I’ll marry you!”

Merlin dives forward and nearly knocks them both over in his efforts to get his mouth on Arthur’s. Arthur can’t complain. This is the happiest he’s ever been in his life.

+1 The Court

Arthur brushes his hands over his trousers, trying to get rid of the sweat that has gathered on his palms. Gwen and Lancelot smile at him encouragingly from the crowd, and he resists the childish urge to stick his tongue out at them. He isn’t nervous. Kings don’t get nervous. Besides, Merlin has already said yes. He’s hardly the type to abandon Arthur at the altar.

He takes a steadying breath, and shifts his gaze back to the double doors of the great hall. Any moment now those doors will open, and once again Arthur’s life will change forever. He can’t wait.

The music begins to play, and the double doors swing open. Merlin steps into the hall and he smiles at Arthur nervously as he makes the long walk to the dais where Arthur and Geoffrey wait. Someone, probably Gwaine, lets out an inappropriate catcall from the crowd, and the nerves melt from Merlin’s shoulders as he laughs.

His hair is slightly curly today, and he’s wearing a Pendragon-red doublet. A blue neckerchief is tucked into it because god forbid Merlin not wear one on his wedding day. The sun drifts through the windows in beams of golden light, highlighting the angles of Merlin’s face and giving him that otherworldly look that gets so lost in Merlin’s general Merlin-ness. Arthur is sure Merlin has never looked more enchanting. 

He takes Merlin’s hands as he mounts the steps to the dais, and Merlin’s long fingers grip Arthur’s hands in return, cool and steadfast. The two of them share a small smile as Geoffrey begins to talk. He goes into a long winded description about the duties of a consort, the importance of marriage, the duties of husbands, etc. It’s all extremely boring, but Arthur can’t stop gazing at Merlin. He can’t believe that as soon as Geoffrey stops prattling on, Merlin will be his husband. He doesn’t care if it’s destiny, or fate, or just the bizarre machinations of a dragon driving them together. It doesn’t matter. Nothing has ever felt so right. 

“Do you, King Arthur Pendragon, recognize and consent to this union between yourself and one Merlin of Ealdor?” Geoffrey asks in that stuffy voice of his.

“I recognize this union between myself and Merlin of Ealdor.” Arthur promises. Merlin squeezes Arthur’s hands anxiously, and fidgets a bit on the dais. Arthur rolls his eyes at the antics, but can’t stop the soft love struck grin from creeping onto his face. He’s never loved someone as much as he’s loved Merlin, and this means everything to him. Judging by the tears threatening to spill from Merlin’s eyes, he feels much the same as Arthur.

“Do you, Merlin of Ealdor, recognize and consent to this union between yourself and one Arthur Pendragon King of Camelot?” Geoffrey continues.

Merlin grins his sunshine grin at Arthur, and frees one of his hands. He raises it between them, then lets out a trilling whistle, and taps two fingers to his chest right over his heart. 

There is no explanation needed for that one. There is no confusion from anyone in the audience. It is perfectly clear what Merlin meant by that gesture. 

_I love you_.

**Author's Note:**

> I took [this random tumblr post](https://adventuresoftheordinarysort.tumblr.com/post/629827730634145792/brolinskeep-warp69-fangirlcrack), and made a thing out of it.


End file.
